Burning Cold
by Jane88
Summary: "Most people think I burn hot, but it's actually quite the opposite." Can't get this out of my head so I'm just playing a bit around with it. Set post 7x13 with hallucinating/hurt Sam and of course hurt/awesome big brother Dean
1. Chapter 1

I'm back with another story that popped into my mind some time ago. I actually intended this to be an one shot but it's going to be longer than I thought - should know that by now... :) So here is the first part. Set between 7x13 and 7x14. All mistakes are mine. Enjoy!

**Burning Cold**

"You're kiddin', right?" Dean's voice was barely audible when an ice-cold gust of wind blew over their heads as they made their way towards a large mansion, towering up amidst the dark forest that surrounded it.

"I mean, really? A ghost hunt? After everything we've been through… you found us a ghost to gank?"

Sam wrapped his arms around himself, shivering slightly in the unforgiving wind. The sudden change in weather had been unexpected, blue sky turning into an ominous mass of dark clouds in the past half an hour. He should have taken his hoodie with him.

"I thought something normal would be nice for a change.", Sam replied, shrugging his shoulders.

Dean gave a laugh next to him and Sam smiled. Crazy - a ghost hunt 'normal'. But wasn't it just their life? And after Leviathans and creepy monster daughters the haunted mansion story just seemed to be the perfect hunt. An easy in and out without the dangers of getting shot or adding another deeply felt hole to the ones they've already gathered over the past weeks – or years. No black ooze and monsters rising from the dead, just a simple salt and burn. Something they'd be able to look back as being a success for once.

"So what's the story again?" They stopped a few feet away from the large oak front door, eyes taking in the cracks in the walls, cracked windows and ivy growing up high.

"There was a burglary about forty years ago. The owner Norman Jameson wasn't at home at the time but his wife and kid got killed at it. The murderers were never found though and Jameson hanged himself a few weeks afterwards when the case got closed. Some families moved in and out since then but never stayed for long. Flickering lights, moving furniture and a few harmless accidents were reported through the years, nothing serious. The mansion has been abandoned for the last decade now, getting the official haunted status by the locals. Now and then people come here for stupid games or just for the kick. It's been two months since the first death happened, followed by a second about a week ago. Both suffocated."

"Sounds like this Norman guy stayed to find the murderers of his family and finally snapped. Is he hanging them too?"

"Not sure. There haven't been any obvious signs, no rope imprints, no abrasions, no hand prints either."

"What isn't a surprise if there's a ghost choking you. Oh I can't wait to shoot it full of rock salt!", Dean said, shouldering his shotgun as he opened the door.

They stepped inside, door creaking as it shut behind them. They stood in a large entrance hall with an old glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling and doors at all sides opening to who knows how many rooms.

"His body got cremated, wife and kid too.", Sam went on.

"Awesome! So we're looking for something he's still attached to. Any idea what it is?"

"Not really. Could be anything. Might be something of his family that he's still holding onto."

"Well Sammy, let's split up then. Wanna be out of here before it's dark and my butt freezes off. I take the upper floor and you scan the rooms down here."

Sam nodded and watched Dean walking up the stairs, kicking up dust at every step he took. He waited till he was out of sight before he approached the first door on the left, raising his shotgun and kicking it open. The room behind it was empty despite a lonely chair in a corner. He looked around, searching for anything that might seem out of place. Coming up with nothing but spider webs and swirling dust that made his eyes water and his nose itchy, he proceeded. The next three rooms were pretty much the same, nothing closely to giving him a hint.

A sudden clashing noise from behind startled him. Sam spun around, shotgun raised but nothing to point at. No one was there. Across the entrance hall a door was ajar, swaying slightly. Sam frowned and approached it carefully, stopping shortly in front of it before he tore it open. A blast of icy wind blew him in the face, taking his breath away for a second. He shivered involuntarily.

One of the windows in the room was broken, splinters of glass littering the floor, no longer a barrier for the unforgivable storm that was raging outside by now. Sam looked around, lowering his shotgun when there wasn't any ghost in sight. The room was large, an old piano standing in a corner, a moth-eaten rug on the floor and a cupboard and a gold-rimmed mirror hanging crooked to his right.

Sam took a deep breath and stepped inside, hurrying over to the cupboard to scour it. He cursed when another freezing blast hit him, making his flesh crawl and sending shivers down his body. Why the hell didn't he bring his hoodie?

"Because you know it wouldn't do you any good."

Sam jumped at the taunting voice behind his back, pausing for a moment in his search. He swallowed and resisted the urge to turn around and flee but looked through the last drawer which ended up being empty as well as the other ones.

"Sam, you know I hate to be ignored like that. Doesn't this feel just like old times?" Ice-cold fingers touched his shoulder. Sam froze, bile rising up. He felt his mind drifting off slowly. No, not now!

Sam bit his lip and touched his scarred hand, pressing his thumb into the long since healed palm. He sighed with relief when he heard the familiar sizzle behind him that indicated Lucifer flickering and disappearing. He was still tense and held his breath when he turned around. But he was alone in the room. Task forgotten Sam had only one thing in mind right now – run, get out, away from the biting cold and the haunting voice that was still ringing in his ears. Sam crossed the room with a quick pace, stumbled out and closed the door with a loud and reverberating thud.

He leaned back for a moment, slowing down his breaths. 'Come on Sam, keep it together, you're in the middle of a hunt.' He tried to push the images to the back of his mind that threatened to resurface with the cold still lingering in his limbs.

Quiet whispers reached his ears, hissing and snarling. He couldn't understand a word of it, wasn't sure if he wanted to. He shut his eyes, bit his lip and pressed his scar again. The whispers ceased but before Sam could sigh with relief, loud crashing and rumbling followed. Sam's breath hitched and he dug his finger into his palm even deeper. A scream pierced the air and Sam screwed up his eyes, not daring to look, afraid of what he might see.

'It's not real, it's not real…", the mantra played out in his mind, his thumb probably bruising his palm by now. But the sounds didn't fade.

"Saaaammm!"

Dean's voice echoed through the house. Sam jumped and his eyes shot open as another cry of his name resounded distantly followed by a loud crash above him. That was definitely real. Damn!

He made a dash for the stairs, taking two steps at a time, shouting Dean's name when he reached the first floor. His brother didn't respond but another crashing sound came from the right and he didn't hesitate to rush forward, shotgun already raised and ready to fire. He neared the end of a hallway and kicked open a door on the left.

Sam gasped when he entered the room, the ghosts presence undeniable when the cold consumed him at once, creeping into every pore of him, making his fingers hurt, his lungs burn and his heart race. He felt like stumbling right into a freezer.

"Or the cage!" His whisper was like poison, infecting him with memories he just couldn't deal with right now. Cause across the room was an obviously raging ghost, towering over his big brother who lay sprawled against the far wall, only coming around slowly. Sam shook his head as if to shake off the devil on his shoulder and stepped forward.

"Hey!" The ghostly figure turned, furious eyes meeting concerned ones. Sam didn't hesitate and pulled the trigger, salt hitting the white apparition with force. He disappeared at once, salt grains falling down on Dean. Sam ran, dropping to his knees next to his brother.

"Dean, you with me?" He shook his shoulder and a quiet groan escaped Dean. His hand was swept away.

"For a princess you're all but gentle you know." Sam smiled, not complaining as long as his brother opened his eyes and bitched at him. Dean sat up, right hand clasping his left shoulder with a grimace. Sam opened his mouth but his brother beat him to it.

"I'm okay, just bruised my shoulder in the fall. Fucker came out of nowhere. Where the hell is he now?"

Sam stood up, holding out his hand. But before his brother could grasp it, Sam was suddenly lifted into the air. His eyes met Dean's shocked ones for a second before an invisible force threw him backwards. He hit the wall painfully, head banging into the hard stone with a sickening thud. For a moment all he could hear was a nasty ringing in his ears, drowning out all the sounds around him.

He felt the spirit before he could even see him. The cold was closing in again and as he cracked an eye open, a blurry white figure was standing right in front of him. His shotgun was lying a few feet away behind it. Not good… Its hands shot out fast, pale bony fingers reaching for his throat at the same time Dean's voice split the air.

"Sam, get down!"

He didn't hesitate and hit the dirt as Dean fired his shotgun. Jameson flickered out before the salt round could hit him. It went right through the window behind instead which shattered loudly. Shards of glass were raining down on Sam and he threw his hands up covering his head. They cut into his arms, leaving tiny scratches that stung painfully. But that was nothing compared to the icy rain suddenly pelting down. Sam was soaked in no time, gasping and shivering violently.

Lucifer was back in a second, sitting next to him cross-legged and stroking his hair affectionately. Sam felt bile rising in his throat. Pressing his thumb into his scarred hand he expected to stop the hallucination long enough to get up and help Dean. But the fingers in his hair didn't disappear.

"Oh no, you won't get rid of me so easily this time." The devil laughed heartily. "You remember the first time I touched you? I told you I burn cold but you were still so surprised."

Sam swallowed hard as memories assaulted his mind, no longer able to hold them back. Icy hands tracing deep gashes across his chest, the biting cold multiplying the pain instead of numbing it. Sharp-edged chains cutting into his wrists as he struggled to escape the sharp claws that dug into him like he was butter. Flames spiking up around him, his flesh smouldering and melting to the bones while the devil laughed next to him. No, stop it! He pressed his eyes tightly together to try to keep the horrific images out. He knew it wouldn't do him any good, it was all in his mind. Lucifer sneered into his ears.

"Let's have some fun, shall we? You were blocking me out for way too long. I'm a guy who needs some action from time to time. And that's just a fantastic fight to watch, don't you think?"

Lucifer's fingers tightened in his hair and he tug at them painfully, lifting his head and forcing him to look straight ahead. The spirit was back and heading for Dean in full speed who obviously was still a little wobbly on his feet from the knockout before. He wasn't fast enough to raise his shotgun in time and was flung right into the opposite wall, back hitting an old painting which broke and crashed down. Dean would have followed right away but Jameson gripped him by his throat and held him upright.

Sam heard his brother gasping, desperately trying to pull in the much needed air. But to no avail, the ghost had him tightly in his grip. A whisper echoed through the room, hissing and voice laden with anger.

"You killed them. They didn't know, were innocent, had nothing to do with it. And you killed them!"

Dean opened his mouth to say something but his voice was choked off as the ghost tightened his grip even further.

"No! Dean!" His anxious outcry reverberated around the room. He tried to get up, reach out for the shotgun which lay only a few feet away. But the devil still had a firm hold of him. Lucifer wasn't real, damn it! He knew that. So why the hell couldn't he move?

Sam could see Dean's eyelids fluttering now, clearly spacing out due to the lack of oxygen. No! Not again!

"Yes Sammy! Again! And again and again… You know it's one of my favorite tortures – killing Dean right in front of you."

His heart sank. Yeah, he wouldn't forget that. Dean had died so many times while he'd been unable to move a finger to save him. He'd known it wasn't his brother at first. The thought of Dean being safe and not in hell had given him the strength to fight and stay strong. But after years and decades in the cage it had become harder and harder to remember…

But he wasn't in the cage now! Wasn't at the mercy of the devil anymore. He could save his brother this time. He might not have stood a chance against Lucifer in hell but he knew he could get the upper hand here. He just had to get rid of him.

Head still in the devil's vice-like grip, Sam's hand searched the ground blindly till his fingers touched the sharp edge of a fragment of glass. He didn't hesitate, didn't take the time to prepare himself for what was to come. It had to be quick, had to hurt like hell. And it did!

Sam raised the piece of glass and thrust it right through his left hand.

White hot pain shot through it, travelling up his arm like electricity. He couldn't suppress the scream that build up in his throat. But through the haze of pain he felt the devil's hand release him and his scream turned into a small laugh of utter relief. He didn't care if he sounded crazy right now. No longer frozen to the spot, Sam didn't waste any more time and reached for the shotgun, salt ripping through the ghost a second later. Dean crumbled, slumped down and lay motionless on the floor.

Sam stood up on shaking legs, shivers still ripping through him thanks to his soaked clothes. Bleeding hand pressed tightly to his abdomen he made his way over to Dean, coming to a staggering halt in front of him and crouched down. His brother was pale and unresponsive when he shook his shoulder. Sam's heart was pounding fast when he felt for a pulse, not daring to take a breath till he felt the reassuring beat against his fingers.

"Dean? Come on, time to wake up!" No response of course.

Sam checked him shortly for any kind of head injury, glad to find only a small bump but no wound under his shaggy hair. He noticed with concern how shallow his brother's breaths sounded. His good hand travelled down palpating his throat, shocked to feel it already beginning to swell. He swore quietly. With Dean out and him one-handed they should definitely make a run and come back later. But how was he going to get his brother up and out of the house safely? He was still shaken to the core from his little memory trip and his muscles were barely able to hold his own weight. And they still had a very pissed ghost on their tail.

"Murderer!" The whisper was directly behind Sam and he whirled around, firing without hesitation. The spirit dissipated mere inches in front of him. No more pondering, time to hightail it!

Sam bent down, reaching under Dean's arms and heaved him up. He stumbled with the weight of his limp brother, injured hand reflexively trying to brace against the wall. Big mistake! The glass, still stuck in his hand, was pushed in even deeper and Sam's vision turned white for a moment. He found himself sprawled above Dean a second later, crushing his brother under him. Sam swallowed the bile that tried to force itself up his throat and blinked a few times to get his eyes to work again. And was surprised at what he saw.

The wall, right where his hand must have hit it, was pushed in now. He took a closer look and saw one of the bricks turned halfway, revealing a small opening behind it. And something was glinting from the inside. He reached for it with his good hand and stared at it in amazement. Small and transparent pellets lay in his open palm, not bigger than pebbles that sparkled in all kinds of colors when he moved his hand to and fro. He couldn't believe his eyes. Are these…? No. Or maybe… Dean would freak out. Well, he wasn't some expert but they were hidden inside a secret hollow so-

"Mine. Give it to me!" The eerie whisper was back and Sam only hand time to turn and swing his shotgun before the ghost's skeletal fingers could wrap around his throat. It vanished instantly with the touch of the iron.

Gemstones. Really? Hidden from greedy hands for decades. And a furious ghost who seemed pretty eager to get them back. Seemed like they found what was keeping their ghost in the world of the living.

Sam was already fumbling with his brother's jacket for the lighter before Jameson could make a comeback when a troubling thought struck him and his hands halted in midair. His excitement was crumbling like dust and his heart sank.

How the hell were they supposed to destroy gemstones?

**TBC**

I'd love to hear what you think?Good? Bad? I'll try to hurry up with the next part with our lovely caring big brother. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It was hard to breathe… that was the first thing Dean noticed when the darkness subsided and the fog lifted from his scrambled noggin. In… out… in… out… He wondered if some cracked ribs gave him the trouble – wouldn't be the first time. But it felt different somehow. Like this one time when he ate shellfish in this stupid salad bar Sam had dragged him into… Like his throat was too tight-

Memories crashed down on him, images of white bony fingers reaching out, iciness on his skin, his throat closing up, Sam somehow frozen to the ground, eyes wide and horror-stricken, calling his name anxiously when the blackness took over… Shit, what happened while he was out? Where was Sammy now? He should probably open his eyes to find out.

His vision was blurry for a second but when it cleared he was looking directly at a line of salt, going neatly around him and closing to a protective ring. But no little brother in sight. Dean's arms shook when he propped himself up, his strength apparently zapped along with his air. A loud clanking behind his back made him flinch and he spun around.

Sam was standing a few feet away, shotgun raised and about to hit an iron pipe in a dark corner again that reached from the ceiling to the floor. The next strike made his ears ring and his head ache. His voice failed him when he tried to call for his brother. Only a mere gasp left his mouth, followed by a raspy coughing fit. His eyes were teary when he finally caught his breath again, shaky but stable.

Sam was kneeling in front of him, wet bangs almost obscuring his concerned eyes that tried to catch his. One hand was on his shoulder, keeping him from tipping over. Well, at least he got his attention.

Dean tried to speak again, with more success this time.

"House is not… your enemy here… Sammy. Where's… the bastard?" He had to take a few breaks to suck in air but hey – his voice was back.

Sam's expression relaxed, cracking a smile. But it didn't reach his eyes. Dean could see pain and fear reflecting in them, making him wonder what he'd missed that had unsettled his little brother so much.

"Ghost won't be gone for long. How ya doing, Dean?"

Good question… breathing was still a bit off but his headache had eased to a subtle pounding and his arms got stronger by the second, holding his own weight safely now.

"I'll be fine. Just… give me a sec. This guy… had a strong grip."

Sam nodded and his hand left his shoulder, only to grip Dean's a moment later to let a few glass pellets fall into his open palm. He frowned when he observed them closely.

"Apparently our ghost had a few dirty secrets. Were hidden in the wall. I guess that's what the thieves were looking for. He thinks we murdered his family."

Sam was on his feet again, shotgun pummeling down on the iron pipe with another loud clank. Dean had a hard time following Sam.

"Gemstones, really?"

Sam only nodded and went for the pipe once more, this time cracking it.

"And what's that for champ?"

"Plan to destroy these."

Two swings later he dropped his shotgun to the ground, holding up his prize, an about four feet long tube. That's when Dean noticed Sam's left hand was pressed to his stomach. Lightning flooded the dark room and he was shocked to see a dark patch of blood on his brother's shirt.

"Shit Sammy, what-". But the ghostly figure of Jameson was obscuring his view suddenly, expression furious, spidery fingers reaching out for the gemstones in his hand but stopped effectively by the line of salt. Sam's pipe went smoothly through the apparition and Jameson dissipated with a furious screech. A gigantic roll of thunder startled them both, echo still in the room when Sam called out for Dean.

"Can you get up?"

"Watch me!"

Dean latched on to Sam's arm, swaying for a few seconds before straightening up and turning to face his brother. Dean had already caught his hand before Sam could pull it back. He hissed in sympathy when he saw the jagged piece of glass embedded in the middle of his palm, the wound still oozing blood at a slow pace. Sam tried to hide it but Dean could see the guilt and fear in his brother's eyes. His heart sank. He had a basic idea of what had happened.

However, this wasn't the time for questions. A ghost was still after their asses and they had to find a way to destroy the gemstones. Cause salt and a lighter wouldn't do the trick here.

"Let's go, Dean!"

But he still held on to Sam's hand which was trembling slightly beneath his touch. Dean cursed silently and hurriedly tore off a strip of his shirt. He ignored Sam's protests and tied it around his hand, careful to move the glass shard as little as possible. He looked up and met Sam's eyes, gratitude reflecting in them. He smiled… 'You're welcome.'

The cold was back, puffs of air suddenly visible. Dean grabbed his shotgun and fired before Jameson made it across the room. He cursed when he realized he'd just spent his last rock salt. Sam noticed too.

"Take mine!" Dean didn't need to be told twice.

They hurried out of the room, turning towards the staircase.

"I hope you've got… a good plan, Sammy. Cause… I can't think of a damn thing destroying fucking… gemstones right now."

Dean panted heavily, running not being the best sport for his abused windpipe.

"Heat! Like… extreme heat. Bone melting heat." Dean shot a glance at Sam, seeing his face contorting to a grimace and had to struggle not to gag at the thought that his brother might actually speak from experience.

"And where the hell are we supposed to conjure up such heat?"

They'd reached the stairs and stumbled down, Dean following Sam's lead to the front door, hoping his brother knew what he was doing. He grasped the door handle and ripped it open only to be flung back when he wanted to step outside. Sam landed next to him with a pained cry, injured hand knocking into the floor. They heard the door shut with an audible crash.

The ghost of Norman Jameson stood on top of the stairs and glared down on them, a smile curling up his lips.

"You can't escape! The gemstones are mine. You'll pay for what you've done."

He flickered and Sam jumped when he suddenly appeared in front of him, ripping the iron pipe out of his hand with a simple flick of his hand. Rock salt smashed into his head, leaving behind only puffs of smoke.

Flashing light flooded the entrance hall, followed directly by an ear-splitting thunder.

Sam picked up the iron pipe lying next to him. "Lightning! Should have enough firepower to turn them to dust." Sam's voice was almost drowned out by the rumbling noise.

Dean glared at him for a second.

"That's crazy!"

"You've got a better idea?"

Point taken. But if someone was going to risk getting flambéed, it was him. "Well, give that to me then." Dean whipped the pipe out of Sam's hand, ignoring his bitching. He thrust the shotgun into his arms.

"New toy to play for you. Keep Jameson's ghostly ass away from mine."

And with that Dean jumped up, ran towards the door and out into the raging storm.

The rain pelted down on him viciously, stinging his eyes and soaking his clothes in an instant. A sudden gust of wind knocked him off his feet. He landed on his knees and stifled an outcry when he hit the sharp edge of a stone. He picked himself up quickly and carried on till he was about 60 feet from the house, standing in the middle of the deserted front lawn.

Another lightning flooded the area, making the mansion look more than ever like an eerie haunted place. Dean ducked reflexively, though knowing that wouldn't do him any good. He was standing in the middle of nowhere with an iron rod in his hands during a thunderstorm. Not very clever.

"Okay, better hurry then." He mumbled, lunging out and driving the pipe into the muddy ground. He took the gemstones out of his pocket.

"Nooooooooooo, don't!" The screech was piercing the air despite the wailing wind. He was knocked down from behind, falling flat and face down into the mud. The smell made him sick and he tried to rise. But an icy hand pushed his head deeper down. Foul water and mud filled his mouth and nose, taking his last breath away.

A gunshot resounded. Dean was released and gasped when he emerged, coughing and spitting out mud. His stomach rolled and he couldn't stop himself from throwing up.

He was still gagging when Sam's outcry had him spin around. He saw his brother being flung from the porch, mud splashing in every direction when he hit the ground. He swung the shotgun around and fired. The ghost vanished into thin air, fogging Sam in for a second.

Dean propped himself up, glad to find the gemstones still clutched safely in his hand. He shortly considered what to do, then shrugged and threw them in the cavity of the pipe where they slid clanking to the ground. That was crazy! He could only pray for a miracle now.

Time to haul his ass back to the house. He trudged through the mud and looked for Sam. His heart dropped when he found him cowering on the ground, back pressed against the wall and arms slung around his knees. His legs carried him to his brother as fast as possible, storm and ghost momentarily forgotten. He dropped on his knees in front of him.

"Sammy? Come on buddy, snap out of it."

But Sam didn't hear him, apparently didn't see him either. His eyes were moving quickly from side to side, not focusing on anything in particular. He was shivering violently and when Dean touched his arm it was ice-cold. Shit, not good! What had triggered his breakdown? He'd been fine. Well, not really fine but he had it under control with his little scar-thing.

Suddenly Dean was lifted into the air and thrown into the wall next to Sam. He struggled against invisible bonds but noticed with despair that he was pinned for good. He cursed himself. Never turn your back on your opponent. He knew better than to get distracted during a hunt.

The spirit materialized in front of them, eyes scrutinizing him.

"Where did you hide them? Give me the stones!" Its voice was laden with hate and despite. Dean cast his eyes over to Sam, still sitting on the ground, trembling and unresponsive. The storm was raging around them, the rolling thunder ear-splitting and following each lightning instantly, indicating the thunderstorm to be directly above them. 'Come on!'

"Go to hell!" Dean spit and smirked at the surprised look on Jameson's face. But his smirk was wiped away when the ghost laid eyes on Sammy and smiled evilly. The bastard was going down!

"Don't you dare touch him!" If looks could kill, Jameson would've dropped dead instantly for a second time. But the bastard wasn't affected by his threat and closed his hands around Sam's throat, slowly lifting him off his feet and up the wall, eyes never leaving Dean.

The blast was deafening when the thunderbolt smashed into the pipe, shattering it. Jameson froze in his move as if hit by the fiery inferno himself. Shock reflected on his face and his mouth opened into a silent scream. His decayed skin started to glow, brighter and brighter till his whole appearance seemed to consist of light itself. With a final screech the spirit burst into thousands of tiny lights like some fireworks, glowing for another moment before going out, leaving no trace behind.

**TBC**

What do you think? I admit I really suck at physics so I've no clue if that's even possible. Just use your imagination, I'm sure you've got lots of it. ;) One chapter left, look out for it!


	3. Chapter 3

I'm still alive and kicking. And finished the story - I know, unbelievable! ;) Here you go - last chapter - enjoy!

**Chapter 3**

Dean slid down the wall as soon as the light faded. His legs felt like butter and buckled the moment his feet touched the ground. He sat there frozen for a second, not quite believing that they really smote a ghost with a lightning bolt. Should win them an entry into the Guinness Book of Records of Doing the Undoable. He breathed easily, glad that they'd got off lightly this time.

Till Sam grunted next to him, setting of his big-brother radar in an instant. More or less lightly.

Dean crawled over to Sam who'd landed in a tangled heap in the mud. Eyes squeezed shut, good hand clutching his hair, he was muttering incoherently, obviously not noticing that he was lying half-submerged in a stinking puddle.

"Sammy?" No reaction.

He reached out and laid one hand gently on his brother's cheek, the other one grasping his shoulder, shaking it. But Sam didn't notice, just continued to mutter to himself. Dean sighed and carefully lifted him out of the water.

A foot caught him in the middle of his gut, not hard but still taking him by surprise. He tilted backwards, catching himself just in time to dodge a second boot aiming for his head. The third blow he caught, struggling with the foot for a moment before a weak whimper signaled a little brother being terrified and exhausted.

Dean easily pushed the leg down and took Sam's face into his hands, trying to catch his eyes that were wide open but obviously not seeing him.

"Hey buddy, it's me. Your awesome big brother. Sammy?"

Sam shook his head, voice cracking when he spoke. "You're not him. Stop… pretending! Never… Dean!"

Okay, Sam was definitely seeing him just fine. Recognizing him was a different though.

"Of course I am." But Sam still shook his head.

"No, no, no… cold… always cold… not foolin' me…"

Dean wasn't sure what Sam meant but he was determined to convince him otherwise.

"Sammy! You're out, remember? We went over this. Stone number one!" And Dean took his little brother's scarred hand which was a mess, glass still stuck in his flesh, the makeshift bandage hanging loosely off his wrist. He hated to do this but it worked before and Dean needed Sam's help to get him out of here. Coz honestly, with his adrenalin gone he felt like he'd just been run over by a truck.

He pressed his thumb in Sam's abused palm, right next to the wound, careful not to move the shard of glass but still close enough to cause him pain. He winced himself when his brother let out a painful gasp though not letting go. He saw Sam's eyes clear a bit, still confused and struggling to understand but at least not terrified of him anymore.

"That's it. Not hell, right? We were hunting a ghost, remember?" Sam looked around, taking in the mansion and the courtyard, slowing coming back. He flinched when another thunderbolt lightened up the night sky.

"I got rid of it. Your plan worked. The lightning made short work of it." Sam exhaled and nodded slowly.

"Think you can get up?"

Sam screwed up his eyes but still nodded, obviously not trusting his voice yet. Dean reached around Sam's waist and on the count of three he tugged him up. His brother was wobbly for a moment and Dean had to take most of his weight. When he got his feet under him, Dean steered him across the front lawn as fast as possible. The thunderstorm was still raging above them and he wasn't keen on being its next target.

They reached the Impala a minute later. "Dean… so… cold!" Sam stammered and shivered uncontrollably next to him.

Dean opened the passenger door and lowered him inside, careful to keep his head down to spare him any more pain. He hurried back to the trunk, pulling out a blanket. Sam was already staring straight ahead again when he kneeled down next to him. Dean cursed and wrapped him up in the blanket. Sam jumped at the movement but relaxed a bit when his eyes met Dean's. Dean couldn't help but ruffle his little brother's hair before shutting the door and climbing into the driver's seat.

He fixed his brother, picking up his injured hand with care to inspect it. Blood coated it, mostly dried by now. Only a trickle of blood was still seeping out. But Dean knew as soon as he pulled out the glass spear it would start to leak blood in record time. He didn't know if Sam had damaged any nerves or severed any muscles or tendons. He'd usually rush to the nearest hospital – possible permanent damage was nothing to mess with. But the Leviathans were still after their asses and he was reluctant to trust anyone with his brother in a hospital again.

"Sammy?" Dean looked up and saw Sam staring at the back seat – vacant for him but clearly occupied by the devil himself for his brother. He winced as he saw Sam cringe, shaking his head vehemently at whatever Lucifer was mentally torturing him with. Oh, he was going down!

"Hey! Shut your hole back there!" Dean reached out and turned Sam's head to him. "Don't listen to him. Concentrate on my voice. Just mine!"

Sam's eyes flickered back once again but then stayed up front, following his big brother's lead.

"Good boy!" He smiled. "That's it. Okay, try to wriggle your fingers for me, Sammy. Can you do that?"

Sam did as he said and hissed at the pain shooting through his hand. But all his fingers moved and Dean relaxed a bit.

"Do you feel that?" Dean skimmed along the skin of his fingers and Sam nodded each time.

"Good. No severe damage." At least he hoped so, he was no doctor. "It's going to be okay. We'll go back to the motel and I'll patch it up in no time."

Sam cradled his hand tightly to his chest and snuggled deeper into the blanket. Dean smiled and started the motor, turned up the heat and took off, leaving behind the old mansion with screeching tires.

Sam didn't cast a single glance at the back seat the whole ten minutes they were on the road. Dean knew Lucifer was still there by the stiff posture of his brother. But Sam did his best to be strong and Dean was damn proud of him.

They pulled up in front of their motel and Dean helped Sam out of the car. His little brother was already a lot steadier on his feet. He however felt more miserable by the minute. His whole body ached and his throat felt uncomfortably swollen and tight. But he had a little brother to take care of first. He could have a hot shower and rest afterwards.

They more stumbled than walked into their room and Dean lowered Sam on his bed at the back. His skin still felt cold and the shivers hadn't subsided yet. Dean helped him to strip down to nothing, wet clothes landing in a heap on the floor. He then lifted his feet into the bed. Sam wanted to lie down but Dean stopped him.

"No sleeping yet, Sammy. First have to patch up your hand."

Sam grumbled, already bitchy as usual. Dean smiled at that and tugged Sam up against the wall, wrapping the blanket and another one from his own bed around his shoulders. He stood up and turned around but was stopped by Sam's hand clutching his own tightly.

"Where you going?"

He sounded just like a little boy again, unsure and scared of what might be lurking in the dark if Dean left.

"I'm just fetching our stuff from outside. Be right back."

"Oh! Okay."

Dean returned in record time and was glad to see Sam still sitting on the bed, only his head sticking out from the mass of blankets, following each of his steps with watchful eyes. He grabbed a towel, the first aid kit and a chair and sat down at his side.

"You ready for this?"

Sam cracked a smile. "Have no choice, right?"

"Oh, baby brother finally got it - big brothers always call the shots."

Sam glared at him – so much better than the alarmingly vacant stare from before – and Dean got to work.

He dug up a syringe filled with morphine. This was more than their usual kind of patch-up and if Sam was gonna stay conscious, he wanted him as far in lalaland as possible at least. Sam flinched when the needle entered his skin but didn't protest. Dean took a deep breath and poured antiseptic over the wound, wincing along with Sam. Had to burn like a bitch! He then armed himself with the towel and lots of gauze to stop the bleeding as soon as the glass was removed. Kid didn't need blood loss on top of a frozen ass.

He looked up and saw Sam staring at his injured hand with anxious anticipation. "You better don't look. This is going to be messy and I don't want you little bitch to pass out on me."

Dean smirked at Sam's muttered 'jerk' and waited for his little brother to do as he said. He counted to three before pulling out the shard of glass as straight as possible in hopes of averting further damage. Sam couldn't suppress a pained moan and his hand recoiled reflexively. But Dean held on firmly and pressed the towel on the leaking hole from above, gauze from below. Sam screwed up his eyes and breathed rapidly. But he kept still and Dean waited a bit longer before he started to expertly stitch the wound.

Sam stayed awake - stubborn as he was - and despite the morphine shot he got, he still hissed and tried to stifle groans from time to time, breaking Dean's heart. He remembered how he'd stitched the exact same spot just a few months ago, Sam blissfully unaware of it in his unconsciousness.

"You're one unlucky guy to get your hand pierced twice in such a short time. Damn Winchester luck, right Sammy?"

Dean laughed and looked up, surprised to see Sam shrink from his look, chewing on his lower lip and cheeks turning slightly pink. Okay, that's guilty-little-brother-stance all over. He had a sense of foreboding. Raising his eyebrows, he fixed Sam like only big brother could.

"Spill, Sam! What happened?"

Sam's lips parted but no sound came out. He just stared at his hand while Dean finished the last stitch, eyes only at half-mast but knitting his brow, a certain sign that the wheels spun in his head.

"Don't worry, I won't be mad. Just wanna understand…" Dean hesitated before he went on. "Was it Lucifer?"

Sam flinched at the mention of the devil, a haunted look passing his face. Dean's hand settled on his arm, rubbing calmingly and reassuring him. His brother relaxed slightly.

"You still seeing him?"

Sam shook his head. "Stayed in the car." His voice wasn't more than a whisper.

"Good. Coz I would've kicked his ass and sent him flying out in no time!"

A ghost of a smile passed Sam's lips. He was silent for another minute, then swallowed and started to explain hesitantly.

"He said he doesn't burn hot… that it was quite the opposite. You remember?" Sam's good hand fiddled around with the blanket absentmindedly. Dean nodded.

"He was right. The flames, the knives… everything hurt. But… his fingers were colder than ice, burning and biting more than anything."

Dean held his breath. They never talked about the cage aloud. Sam usually dealt with it silently - pressing his scar when he thought Dean didn't look, relaxing under the touch of his hand after a nightmare, just drawing strength from his presence next to him... And Dean never tried to push him. He knew it probably wasn't for the best. But Sam seemed to do fine. And Dean wasn't sure if could bear to hear Sam talking about the horrors he'd to endure. The imagines Dean saw in his own nightmares were already horrific enough.

But Sam obviously needed Dean to listen now and he wouldn't dare to interrupt him.

"I… in the house… the ghost, the storm, the rain… it was freezing. And…" Sam stopped and shuddered, eyes still focused on the blanket.

"He was there and I couldn't move… I tried… know he isn't real, Dean. But…" His brother looked up, wanting Dean to understand. He took his good hand and squeezed, reassuring him that it's okay. Sam grasped it thankfully, holding on like he'd get lost without it.

"Tried the scar… but he didn't vanish, he just didn't… and the ghost was choking you. And he just laughed, couldn't move… wanted me to see you die, always loved to do that."

Sam let out a sob, his eyes filled with tears now. But he kept going.

"The glass was right in front of me. Knew pain helped… worked before. And I…"

Dean exhaled and wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight. Sam clutched his shirt, face hidden in the crook of his neck, sobs wrecking his body. Dean ran his fingers through his hair, muttering words of comfort.

"Couldn't let you die… not again…" Sam's voice was broken and muffled. Dean clutched him only tighter. Fuck Lucifer! Of course he'd used Dean against his little brother. Most people knew about their close connection. The devil just loved to fuck with your mind. And that was often worse than the physical torture itself. His eyes burned as well and he blinked back the tears that threatened to escape him. He had to be strong for Sam.

"Sorry!" Sam sniffed. "So sorry…"

"Hey!" Dean broke away just enough to take Sam's face in his hand and catch his eyes. "You've got nothing to be sorry for. You did good. You've kicked Lucifer in the ass back there. And saved mine after that. I couldn't be more proud of you, Sammy!"

Sam looked miserable, eyes swollen and red, face glistening with tears. But his lips curled up to a hesitant smile. Good boy!

"So how about I finish bandaging your hand, you hop into the shower for a sec to get all that mud washed from your freakishly long mop of hair, I get one of those hot soups you love so much to warm you up and then you go to sleep?"

Sam sniffed, then looked him up and down, frowning. "But you too. You stink!"

Dean made his best impression to look appalled. "Thanks! Right back at you! But girls first, so go ahead."

His bitch face was back for a second. Then Sam sniffed one last time, hand wiping away snot and tears, smiled and nodded.

* * *

><p>A few minutes later, Sam was walking out of a steaming bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. Bruises and little cuts were standing out from his bare chest and arms but nothing serious. Dean was sure he wasn't looking any better.<p>

Sam's eyes were already drooping when he sat down on his freshly made bed and Dean had to practically feed him to keep him from drowning in his soup. He waited till Sam's breathing evened out and indicated that he was fast asleep before he started to painfully strip himself from his still wet and muddy clothes.

The shower was a bliss and he enjoyed the hot water washing away all the grime and blood – _Sam's_ blood – and loosening his tense muscles. His shoulder was bruised and painful to move and a bad headache was building up by the minute. He hissed when he ran his fingers along his swollen throat, red and hot to the touch. He took some pills to take the edge of his aches and reentered their room.

Sam was snoring softly beside him when he crashed into his own bed. Exhausted to the core but glad that they'd made it out alive – more or less in one piece – it didn't take him long to fall asleep.

* * *

><p>Pain awoke Dean the next morning and he groaned. His throat felt raw and burned uncomfortably, stinging fiercely each time he swallowed. Sunrays were fighting their way through a half-closed curtain when he opened his eyes, plunging the room into a soft golden light. He blinked a few times to clear his head before his eyes searched for the nearby bed where he'd tugged in Sam last night. It was empty.<p>

But before his brain had the chance to fully register what he saw and send him into a full-blown panic attack, he was startled by the creaking of the door behind him. He whirled around and relaxed at the sight of Sam standing in the doorway, smiling sheepishly.

"Sorry! Didn't wanna wake you." He held up a glass of water and a small plastic bag. "Breakfast and pain killers."

And Sam sat down at the side of Dean's bed and started to spread out the contents on the nearby bedside table – a package of Tylenol, fruit salad – really? – yoghurt, applesauce and some kind of still steaming yellow-brownish mush – he wasn't gonna eat that!

He looked up skeptical at Sam, not sure if he should be grateful or smack him at the back of his head.

But Sam just grinned and reached behind his back, conjuring up a fresh and delicious big pie and a box filled with ice cubes.

Damn, was it good to have little brothers!

**The End**

Thanks so much for reading. I hope you had as much fun as I had? You know reviews are like chocolate - yummy! :) Big hug to all of you!


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